


Drinking Games

by Rasalahuge



Series: Deus ex Mycroft [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Drinking Games, Drunk Angels, Gen, No part of Boston was harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4604427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasalahuge/pseuds/Rasalahuge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatley: Angelic tolerance versus functioning alcoholics round 1</p><p>In which Castiel and Raphael recover from their dressing down while Sam and Dean find out just who paid them off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Games

**Author's Note:**

> No Mycroft in this one for once. In fact no Sherlock characters at all but I still tagged it as it's part of the series.
> 
> This is the direct sequel to 'Services Rendered' but it took me ages to clean it up

  


**Drinking Games  
Alternately: Angelic tolerance versus functioning alcoholics round 1**

It didn’t take the Winchester’s long to realise that Mycroft Holmes was a ghost. Quite simply there were no records for him, at least none that had made it to the internet and in this day and age that was never a good thing. Everything else the man had given Sam and Dean seemed genuine, their criminal records were clean for the first time in years, the contacts he had given them existed, the insurance policies checked out and the bank accounts with the ludicrous amount of money turned out to not be fraudulent. Naturally this only made the two hunters more suspicious.

In the end when every route they took hit a dead end Dean turned to their last option and prayed directly to the one angel who might answer. Rather than appear somewhere in Dean’s personal space however Castiel simply sent them a text. That he still _had_ the phone Dean gave him surprised them both, that he had sent them an address of what turned out to be a bar in downtown Boston was even more so.

When Dean rang the phone it went straight to Castiel’s odd voicemail and so the two brothers reluctantly packed up and set out. In the two day car journey the brothers speculated why Castiel might want them to come find him in a bar but no explanation satisfied them. Neither of them said anything about what Holmes had told them – that the war in Heaven was over – but what they didn’t say was more than enough. Whoever Holmes was he clearly had very good contacts and if he was telling the truth about Heaven’s war and his own role in ending it that made him very dangerous indeed.

The bar they had been directed to appeared normal enough, although busier and more upmarket than the hunters usually frequented when not on a hunt. Then again this was one of the more popular areas of Boston for drinks so even if it was a Tuesday night it wasn’t so surprising it was busy. Despite the crowd of bodies however Castiel was easy to spot, as was his apparent drinking partner.

The two angels were perched on bar stools, staring one another down over a table with a series of shot glasses two large, partially drunk, bottles of tequila and a bowl of limes and salt between them. Castiel had lost his trench coat, suit jacket and tie while his drinking partner was still wearing her suit but looked distinctly ruffled. As the two hunters watched Castiel smirked triumphantly, said something that they couldn’t hear over the noise of the bar. Opposite him Raphael’s eyes narrowed but she reached out for salt, lime and glass and tossed back the shot with a smooth movement that spoke of familiarity.

“What the hell?” Dean murmured looking over at Sam who looked equally as staggered. The last time they had seen the two angels in the same room the tension had been so thick they expected it to explode into violence any second and yet now they were apparently sharing drinks.

“This doesn’t look good,” Sam said as the two brothers pushed their way through the crowd to the table. It was then that they noticed the crowd of admiring onlookers, and the large number of empty bottles underneath the table which told the two hunters all they needed to know about how much the angels had been drinking.

“Have they been here since Cas sent us that text?” Dean blanched slightly. He really hoped Raphael was footing the bill for this particular binge because that was probably at least a thousand dollars’ worth of alcohol.

“Maybe even longer,” Sam grimaced even as they reached the table.

“Gabriel, Australia,” Castiel pronounced carefully, his entire focus on Raphael. Closer up it was clear both angels were at the very least slightly tipsy, though Raphael was clearly worse off if her dilated pupils and slight wavering in place were any clue.

“Cheap shot,” The archangel accused, “Everyone knows about that,”

“Cheap, perhaps,” Castiel answered, “But true,” He reached out and poured another shot of tequila and pushed it towards her.

“You’re…” Raphael began, paused to take the shot, and then continued as if she hadn’t even begun, “You’re supposed to be a noble type. Noble types don’t take cheap shots,”

“Noble,” Castiel hummed, “I try to be but there’s only so far noble can take you when your opponent can squash you like an insect with their mind,” Raphael studied Castiel for a moment and then smirked, pleased.

“True,” She agreed. It was at this point that it occurred to Sam and Dean that the two angels were not just drinking together, they were actually participating in some kind of drinking game.

“Cas?” Dean cut in as Castiel began to study Raphael again. The angel blinked slowly, once, twice and then turned and aimed a bright smile at the hunter.

“Dean!” He beamed and then his eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Why are you here?”

“Uh, we prayed for you buddy and you text us the address for this bar,” Dean replied glancing around, “How long have you even been here?”

“Approximately sixty nine hours,” Raphael answered easily and then sniggered, “Sixty nine,” Which basically told the hunters that the archangel was well and truly drunk despite appearances.

“Uh… why are you here?” Sam asked.

“We are recovering,” Castiel informed his friends still being careful to pronounce his words properly but looking at Raphael with a pleased expression, clearly sober enough to realise that he was well on his way to winning this drinking game. “From a most terrible ordeal,”

“Peace treaty negotiations are not fun,” Raphael mused out loud, “But not as terrifying as… well…” She trailed off and shuddered in a way that, were she sober, would have been theatrical. Castiel shuddered along with her and stared at the two hunters with wide eyes.

“The things we have endured in the last two weeks are not to be spoken of,” He said, his voice grave and stern as if it were a holy decree.

“So the war is over then?” Sam asked with a sinking suspicion.

“Indeed,” Castiel answered easily, “Negotiations were not easy and compromise is uncomfortable for all however it was… made clear that continuing the war was not acceptable,”

“Made clear by who?” Dean demanded bluntly and the two angels looked uncomfortable.

“It’s just,” Sam cut in before either tried to answer, “A few days ago we were sort of kidnapped by this very weird guy. He said that the war in Heaven was over, that he’d threatened the two of you into negotiating. We didn’t really believe him but you’re saying someone did threaten you?” He glanced pointedly at Raphael then. Everything they knew about the archangel said there was very little that could threaten her with impunity now that the other archangels were all gone.

“ _Urgh!_ ” Raphael groaned, folded her arms across the table and buried her head in them. “I don’t want to talk about it,” She whined.

“The person you spoke to,” Castiel was watching his sister with an understanding expression, “Was he English? Wore a tailored suit? A very physically beautiful female assistant with a phone?”

“More than slightly creepy? Yeah, sounds like the guy,” Dean agreed, “Called himself Mycroft Holmes, but we checked. There’s no record of anyone by that name, anywhere.”

“Closest we could find was a Sherlock Holmes, in London, some kind of private detective,” Sam added.

Raphael groaned again and Castiel turned back to them with a baleful expression. His eyes were clearer now, the conversation having a sobering effect on him, or maybe just because he was not drinking constantly now and his grace was catching up with the alcohol.

“Indeed that is the one who told us to end the war in no uncertain terms, though threatening us is not quite an accurate description,” The angel swallowed, “Dean, Sam I believe I should inform you that you have just met my Father,”

“Your… _father_?” The brothers exclaimed in shock.

“Yes,” Castiel said looking somewhat depressed, “He was… displeased with the war and called us to his office to make it very clear that we were to stop immediately,” The angel shifted uncomfortably, “It was not a pleasant experience,”

“Never is,” Raphael said, her voice somewhat muffled by her arms, “No one likes getting yelled at by Father,”

“Thought you were of the belief that God is dead?” Dena shot at her and she looked up with a tormented expression.

“Apparently I was mistaken,” She replied and then pushed herself upright, almost too hard so she wavered before catching her balance. “Did he yell at you?” She tilted her head towards the hunters.

“Uh… no,” Sam answered, “He paid us off,”

“He… what?” Both angels blinked at them.

“He called it payment for services rendered,” Sam explained, “Gave us a shit tonne of money, cleared out criminal records, health insurance, genuine id, everything,” The hunter shrugged. “Apparently stopping the Apocalypse earned some kind of reward,”

“Of course it did,” Raphael closed her eyes and reached for the nearest tequila bottle.

“Wait Cas… he yelled at you too?” Dean let his eyes switch over to the angel who suddenly looked even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. “Why’d he yell at you? I mean the war, yeah, but you didn’t really have a choice there given it was start a war, get smote or let Raphael start the Apocalypse over again… right?”

“It was not my decision to take a stand against Raphael that I was in trouble for,” Castiel said his eyes turning to the table and a guilty expression spreading across his face.

“He’s been working with a demon, Crowley I think,” Raphael explained obliviously, “To get the fire power to stand up to me and not get squished into tiny pieces. Again.” She tilted her head back and started to down the tequila, apparently deciding she wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. The two hunters, staring at their friend in shock, shared the feeling.

“I had few options,” Castiel closed his eyes, “I know it was a stupid mistake and one you would never forgive me for but there was no other way to stand against Raphael. Crowley offered me human souls in order to increase my own power,”

“In exchange for what?” Dean demanded angrily even as Raphael blinked at Castiel.

“Huh, so _that’s_ what Father meant by drug abuse,” The archangel’s surprised tone was enough to catch them all by surprise as they looked at her. “What?” She blinked at them. “Getting power directly from souls rather than filtered through Heaven is the biggest high an angel can get without being around when Father is in a good mood,” Castiel grimaced.

“Crowley is attempting to open Purgatory,” He told the hunters, “He offered me half of the souls if I helped him and kept anyone from intervening, either from Heaven or…” He trailed off and both humans knew who went on the end of that sentence.

“Half the souls in purgatory,” Raphael snorted, “Overdose much?”

“Would have worked though,” Castiel pointed out and Raphael considered it.

“Well _yes_ , obviously. Wouldn’t have been much of you left afterwards but if your only aim was to explode me then it would have been effective,” The archangel said as if they weren’t discussing her death so casually. “Still it would have been entertaining to watch,” She mused staring into the middle distance. “Michael once took the power of ten thousand souls on a dare; it was the most entertaining he’s _ever_ been in his life,” Sam and Dean blinked once more at the sudden change of topic however Castiel sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light.

“You got in trouble for that,” He said and Raphael’s eyes focused in on her little brother.

“Yes but you need more detail than that,” She challenged and Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Michael was shouted at for doing it in the first place. Lucifer actually dared him but it was your idea. Gabriel didn’t stop you,” He said after a long, heavy silence.

“Three out of four,” Raphael conceded and started to line four shot glasses up and fill them. “Gabriel stole the souls we needed,” She slid one glass over to Castiel. The two hunters watched in amazement as Castiel downed his shot while Raphael took the other three. It didn’t take a genius to work out how their drinking game worked.

“You’re taking shots over the archangels getting in trouble with God?” Sam asked wildly even as Dean decided he’d had enough of this conversation. He grabbed the glasses and rearranged them so all four of them had a glass each.

Sure they needed to have a long conversation with Cas and probably Raphael to deal with the revelations of the night but both angels were still mostly drunk (though more sober than when the hunters arrived) and Dean needed some time to process.

“Indeed,” Castiel was informing Sam even as he watched Dean’s actions with a confused expression, “Initially it was quite difficult to guess however I understand the character of the archangels much better now,”

“He’s learning my weak points,” Raphael smiled, her eyes sliding out of focus once again, “It’s nice to have an intelligent arch-nemesis even if I can squash him like a small bug,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean cut in, “That’s all well and good but how about we play a real drinking game?” He asked and the angels looked at him, fascinated. “This game is called ‘Never have I ever’ and is a classic,”

“This game sounds promising,” Castiel’s eyes gleamed so Dean started to explain the rules.

 

On the plus side they learned a great deal more about Raphael’s weaknesses, even if she was now technically on their side. On the other hand dealing with an archangel with a massive hangover was not pretty for anyone - but especially not for Boston which ended up being painted in technicolour overnight to the bemusement of all.


End file.
